


Dinner for Three

by ProfessorMinnie (ProfessorTofty)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Fluff, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Multi, Polyamory
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-05
Updated: 2021-01-05
Packaged: 2021-03-16 02:41:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 10,310
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28574679
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ProfessorTofty/pseuds/ProfessorMinnie
Summary: Draco meets Pansy and Harry at a new restaurant. What happens next will change their lives for the better.Written for magemadi and magnifique's Bi Representation Challenge on FFTalk Archive.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Pansy Parkinson/Harry Potter
Comments: 4
Kudos: 7





	1. Beedle's Bard

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to MalfoysAngel, Mojo, RestingWitchFace, and RonsGirlFriday again for their wonderful help with this. I couldn't have done it without you all.

Draco strutted into Beedle’s Bard, a swanky new spot on the restaurant circuit. It was only natural that Pansy would have chosen this of all places for their date, as it wasn’t new enough to have the kinks of an opening restaurant or the stagnation of tradition found in older establishments. For the occasion, he’d worn something suave yet comfortable, a suit that she liked on him. 

“Your reservation, sir?” the maitre’d said. 

“Oh, Parkinson,” he said. He was fairly nervous, which was odd. It was just Pansy. 

“Very good. Right this way, sir.”

Draco followed the short man through the elegant foyer into a set of private rooms. They reached a heavy purple curtain (that matched his tie exactly) and the maitre’d left. A pair of dainty hands drew out the curtain and Draco’s breath caught as he took in Pansy’s dress.

It was shimmery, another tight cut, made of silver. It accentuated her relatively simple makeup and shorter hair. 

“Hello, darling,” she said, hugging him closely but briefly. “Won’t you join us?”

Draco smiled. “Of course- Us?”

A cough rang out of the booth. Draco’s gaze fixed on her companion, dressed in a green silk shirt and black suit, no tie. 

Harry  _ fucking  _ Potter. He was smiling at Draco sheepishly, his green eyes glinted behind gold-framed glasses. 

“What?!” Draco asked shrilly. This was not happening. 

Pansy gestured. “Come in, and we’ll explain.”

Draco glanced between them. “What, but- Harry, I-”

“Just get in, you git.”

Draco huffed and sat next to Pansy. She winked at him and moved into his lap. Ah yes, he did enjoy this position when with her. It felt intimate, like either one of them could take control of the other at a moment’s notice. 

His enjoyment didn’t last long. Pansy, quite deftly, sat herself on the other side while Harry sidled next to him. 

It wasn’t easy for Draco to sit next to two of his casual partners, especially as he only intended to meet one of them tonight. 

“Is this some cruel joke, Pansy?”

“Not at all. Harry?”

Harry frowned. “Pansy told me, well…”

Draco’s heart began to race. “Told you what?”

“Er-”

“Harry!” Draco cried, already fearing the answer. “Come on, please!”

“Draco, please,” said Pansy. “This isn’t easy.”

“Alright, fine. Pansy told me you mentioned that you wanted to be more serious with her, and that she thought you were going to break it off with me.”

Draco stilled. He hoped that Harry wouldn’t be here for  _ that _ . It was awkward enough when Pansy also dated Harry off-and-on. Draco looked into Harry’s eyes again, searching for the betrayal he’d seen so many times in their past. 

He didn’t find it.

He was smiling. Sadly. The lacquered black of Pansy’s nails remained in Draco’s periphery, offering some comfort. 

“As it happens,” Pansy said, “I was planning on telling you tonight that I wanted to go on more dates with Harry, and… well.”

Draco’s heart shattered. He pursed his lips and stared at the folds of his dinner napkin.

“And why not?” Draco asked neutrally, shrugging. “You have been dating off-and-on for, what, seven years?”

The two of them smiled at each other, but kept it to a minimum, no doubt in deference to Draco’s dignity. He smiled softly at the both of them, feigning happiness. Inside though, he was crushed. Yes, he wanted Pansy to be happy, but he thought he could have something with her, or Harry. Then again, Harry didn’t want to have anything to do with him, that was obvious. Now Pansy didn’t want anything to do with Draco either. 

His false smile faded. Draco was only a casual shag to both of them and that was all he would ever be. After all, between the three of them, there was no doubt it would be easier for Pansy to be “serious” with Harry given his desire for a family. The choice was only natural, inevitable even. A family was something that Draco could never give him. Adoption was an option, but it wasn’t the same for either of them. 

The other two were silent, no doubt waiting on him to continue the conversation after that bombshell. He wanted to leave. Wanted to get out of there and… well, just stay away forever. He couldn’t do that to either of them though. 

It was only after the wine was served (and Draco had several more glasses than either one of them), that he felt a soft touch on his left. He saw Harry’s concerned look, one that made Draco always think he had done something fatal to the man. 

“I know, I’m being selfish,” Draco said, his cheeks rosy. “I should… I should just go, shall I?”

Draco attempted to get up. There was another hand on his other shoulder. “Stay.”

Draco sat back down. 

“There’s something I want to say, before you go,” Harry said.

“What’s there to say?’ Draco said. ‘I lost, didn’t I?”

“You don’t have to,” Pansy said. Draco’s curiosity once again got the best of him. He raised an eyebrow, willing Potter to get on with it.

“I know you, Draco, more than most,” Harry began. “Er, and I don’t think… well, I don’t think I could…”

“Drink a bit more, Harry, I’m sure it’ll help,” Pansy suggested.

Harry flashed his award-winning smile and drank a slurp of his expensive wine like a barbarian with a horn of mead. A lifetime ago, Draco might have sneered. Instead, he was even more curious. What might get the Boy Who Lived so tongue-tied? Why not just stomp the tiny bits of Draco’s heart that Pansy hadn’t reached, to finish the job, so to speak?   
“I know it’ll be corny and that you’ll take the mickey out of me-” Draco didn’t have the heart to scoff indignantly. “-But, er, I can’t stop seeing you.”

“But-”

“No, Draco. I know what I said. I’m willing to, you know. I can go without…  _ that _ .”

“I don’t want that for you,” Draco said. “It’s so important to you, and I respect that.”

“It’s important for you too,” Harry reasoned. It was true. Once, it was all that he envisioned of his life beyond Hogwarts. So much had changed and so much  _ had  _ to change, yet try as he might, he still had some vestigial Pureblood pride left, a need to redeem his family and pass on his legacy into a better future. 

“I don’t want to stop seeing you either, Draco, not really,” Pansy said.

“So what? We can’t all be together,” Draco said, laughing bitterly. “We all knew we’d have to choose eventually. Like Pansy said, it’s just not who we are. We aren't eternally casual like Zabini or Weaselette.”

Harry coughed, and Pansy blushed, looking down at her hands.

“Er, that was the plan,” Harry said, scratching the back of his neck. “That we’d all be together.”

Draco’s eyes bulged and his cheeks tinged pink. “You’re serious.”

“Harry and I talked about it. I read about it, you know. It’s worked before for others, in the Muggle world.”

“But I, I just…”

Harry and Pansy waited patiently for him to finish. Draco snatched his glass again and took another draw, blushing furiously. 

The whole idea was mad. 

More than mad,  _ insane _ . 

Yet, the more he thought about it, the more he thought about how whole he was with either of them. With Harry, it was more physical and adventurous, their differences and similarities providing an exhilarating tempo. With Pansy, he was content to lounge at either of their apartments or sample luxury restaurants or boutiques, their tastes compatible. Both of them made him complete, yet differently so. Yes, it made no sense, but it was the best Draco had described it; no doubt the other two felt the same way. It was their idea. 

“ _ Could it work? _ ” he thought, wondering if his mind had finally left him. Would he, who grew up never having to choose, end up having something so mad yet so simple and so…

_ Right _ ?

It was right, the idea was a good one, and that’s what scared him. No doubt some of his ancestors were spinning in their graves. His parents would be even more disappointed in him than they already were. Not to mention the nightmare of sorting out each other’s already packed schedules. It was a miracle Harry found the time to crash their date, given he was the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor now.

“Draco?” called Harry. Draco blinked.

“I’m with you,” Draco said. Harry smiled and rubbed Draco’s shoulder. 

“So what do you think?” Pansy asked, blushing crimson herself. 

“I… I need to stop drinking,” said Draco. Harry chuckled and corked the wine bottle with his thumb. Draco was always impressed with his ability to do that. 

“I think it’s mad,” he continued.

“But?”

Draco raised an eyebrow. “What makes you think there’s a but?”

“There always is with you,” Harry drawled. Evidently, Harry had picked up a few foul things from Pansy as of late: there was no way that the Harry he’d dated would ever say something so bold. Draco didn’t know it was possible to blush even more than he had been.

Yet nowadays he lived to be proven wrong. 

“But I’m willing to try it.”

“You don’t have to say yes tonight,” Pansy said. “We’re far too gone for something like this.”

“I think my answer would be the same, even if the two of you are the most insane people I know.”

“What about-”

Curly black hair, a wicked grin. Pain, pain-

“I mean of the people I would or could ever want to date, thank you,” Draco said, shaking his head fiercely. “I thought that was obvious.”

“You didn’t say that part, no,” Harry said.

“Prat.”

Harry smirked confidently. “Git.”

“Boys,” Pansy said with a sigh, leaning back in her chair. She smirked at the two of them, goggling as they were. Draco had enough decorum in him to look the other way upon her notice.

“So,” Draco coughed. “How would it work?”

“How it always works, darling. I’m sure we’ll figure it out as we go along. It’ll be just like Potter’s entire school career.”

Draco winced. “Hopefully not. I seem to remember I was a bastard to you back then.”

“Or when you threw your wand to me,” Harry quickly added. “That was very spontaneous and very un-bastard-like.”

“Do either of you want food?” Pansy asked, smoothing out a ruffle in her dress. 

Harry lifted his gaze. “Hm? Oh, no. I have to be getting back. I just-”

“Come back with me,” Pansy said quickly. “To my flat.”

Harry blinked slowly. “Who?” 

She rolled her eyes. “Both of you, you silly boy.”

“Oh I’m not ready for that,” Draco said. If she caught the note of fear in his voice, Pansy didn’t say anything. “I may be willing, but-”

“I really do have things to mark,” Harry said, then burst out laughing.

Draco looked him up and down. “Can you?”

“Oh for sure,” Harry said, waving him off. He got up. “I can- oof!” He stumbled, yet Draco was there to catch him.

“Clearly, even Saint Potter has his limits,” Draco drawled. He noticed how flustered Harry was, how flushed his face had-

“I can’t mark in this state,” Harry laughed. “I should have known; I’m useless after wine.’

“I should think not,” Draco said. “McGonagall would be ever so cross with our Professor Potter should he do his marking half-blinded by burgundy.’’

Pansy’s smirk widened. ‘This is going to be so much fun.” She picked up her purse.

“Come on, you. Friends don’t let friends drink and apparate,” Draco said. “My flat’s the closest.”

“My house has the most space,” argued Harry.

“And an elf,” said Pansy.

Harry flapped his hands. “I told you, he won’t leave. I tried-”

“I know, dear. Just don’t want him to walk in. Again.”

Harry pouted. “I told him not to.”

“I’m sure you did so very nicely,” Draco said, “But as it is, my flat is both larger than Pansy’s and closer than Grimmauld Place.”

The two of them glanced at each other and smiled. This time, Draco felt part of it. 

Perhaps… it could work.


	2. Sunday Dinner

Lucius Malfoy might’ve said a very long time ago that negotiations were always successful because one will triumphed over another. Draco hadn’t found a case yet where that was true. Wills triumphing over others carried such a violent connotation. If he had learned anything, it was that Draco himself wasn’t suited for violence or intimidation. No, successful negotiations between two people required compromise, patience, and honesty. Add a third voice to the mix, and it was even more vital. The fact that Sunday dinner, the bedrock of his weekend time together with both his partners, had to be cooked made those negotiations nearly a matter of life and death. 

It had been months since their fated triple date at Beedle’s Bard. Since then, Kreacher had died and Harry had sold Grimmauld, and Pansy and Draco both had sold their apartments to build a physical representation of each of them and what compromises and values they brought in, a house of their own making. The three of them had near-impossible schedules, that much hadn’t changed, but each had made time for their sacrosanct Sunday dinners. Each of them would prepare dinner as they were available, for the other two. 

Unfortunately, they had each chosen today without telling the others or putting it on the calendar by the tea pots. In the end, they chose to split the load over the next three Sundays, which somehow worked out. Tonight was smoked salmon _canapés_ , roast duck with garlic mash, and humbug ice cream. Harry was rather smug that he made dessert twice in as many weeks. Draco was glad that it wasn’t treacle tart, even if Harry’s alternative seemed questionable. 

As he cut salmon fillets into cracker-sized portions, Draco observed with a fond expression as his boyfriend gleefully smashing humbugs with one of his world-famous rubber mallets. He did it shirtless too, as the man had no shame. Draco was ever amazed he had yet to smash his fingers. 

The hammer stopped, and Harry shook his plastic bag in Draco’s direction, grinning brightly.

"A job well done," Draco said dryly. 

"Thanks," Harry said. He put the bag of smashed humbugs aside. "When is she getting in?"

Draco looked at his watch. "Shouldn’t be long. She has that new enchanted oven, so I’m sure she’ll cut it close to the quick just to demonstrate its necessity."

Harry blinked, looking at their new oven. "Duck takes two hours, especially one that size."

"Oh my sweet man," Draco said, kissing Harry’s forehead. "How little you know of magical cookery.”

“I grew up doing it the Muggle way.”

“As you say, but nevertheless you could’ve smashed the mints with a charm."

"I’m telling you, sometimes it’s better to just smash things by hand," said Harry, waggling the mallet for emphasis.

"Yes, you’d know all about it," Draco said with a smirk. Harry blushed. "I’m going for the wine."

"Cider too?"

"Yes, just for you."

"Excellent," Harry beamed. Draco shook his head and went down the hallway. 

Their house wasn’t as austere as Malfoy Manor or as quaint as the Burrow. It struck a nice balance between the two, with enough pottery, paintings, and wooden sculpture to represent the interests of each of the occupants. It was just as they had intended, of course. Harry helped them to build it with his famous rubber mallet. As he passed through the dining room, Draco laughed at Harry’s lopsided cedar dragon tucked in the corner. He was sure Pansy had moved it there from its place of pride on their bedroom mantle.

Draco turned, noting the door to the far room remained closed. He deftly slid the key to the cellar into the lock, turning it and opening the door in the same movement. He flicked on the oil lamps with a tap of his wand to the control panel and padded down the wide stone steps. He insisted on having the cellar wood-panelled, given the reputation Malfoys with stone-walled cellars had gained from the war. 

Draco breathed in the clean, cool air and looked at the racks and racks of wine stretching out before him.

"My darlings," he greeted. The light reflecting on the tops made them wink in recognition.

After a pause he ambled through the rows as one might do through a library looking for a glorious new book. Draco traced the contours of the bottles before pulling out a white Rioja for his salmon canapés and a semi-sweet Burgundy for Pansy’s duck and mash. He went to the far wall for the chest hugging the wide support pillar, opening it for Harry’s cider. 

He placed the alcohol on the buffet, a gift from his mother. Pansy had revarnished the wood to match the dining table she carved herself. Draco looked out the bay window to their large butterfly garden now covered in a generous layer of snow. 

"You know what," Harry said, startling Draco. "I think I’ll stick to water. Duck doesn’t pair well with cider _or_ salmon."

"I’m so proud," Draco said sardonically. Harry stuck out his tongue and returned to the kitchen. Pansy would be in soon to kick them both out, so Draco returned to work, placing the canapés under a charm and batting away Harry’s hand when he tried to grab one.

True to form, Pansy exited the floo at half-to five, an hour to showtime. Harry finally put on a shirt, and Draco rolled down and buttoned his sleeves to greet her. 

"Hello boys," she called from the room, her voice hurried. "Don’t come near me, I smell dreadful."

"I’m sure that isn’t true," Harry said. Draco held him back from the living room door.

"After curing leather for the entire day, I could probably knock out a dragon," she said. "I’ll be only a moment."

She put her boots on the landing with a thunk, padded up the stairs, and started the shower. Harry turned to Draco. "D’you think she’d mind if I do the potatoes?"

Draco nodded, walking with Harry back to the counter. "She probably would, yeah. Just like when you interrupted her making pot pie. Remember that?"

Harry winced. "Of course I do," he said, sitting in the chair by the mudroom. "I’m still getting used to… _us_ , you know. Sharing the kitchen is just one little bit of that."

"I know," Draco said, rubbing Harry’s shoulder in commiseration. "There's a compromise in all relationships, Harry. We’ll get there together, you, Pansy, and I."

Harry smiled. "Just like school."

"Hopefully not like school," Draco said with a chuckle. "I still don’t fancy the possibility of being mauled by a werewolf."

"Remus did apologise, you know."

"To you, yes," Draco said. "To me? No."

"He came around though, didn’t he?" Harry said. "They all did in the end."

Draco smiled. "Yeah, I know. But you, Pansy and I? What would he think about that?"

Harry shrugged. "No idea. Sirius probably would’ve thrown us a party, though."

Draco chuckled again. "I’m sure. You know, today’s a special Sunday."

“Sundays are always special. It’s the only day McGonagall lets me off,”

“It’s the only day you choose to let yourself off, you mean,” said Draco wryly.

"You’re going to open the room, aren’t you?" Harry said. He’d been champing at the bit to see what was in the far room. Well, what was _new_ in the far room.

"Of course I will," Draco replied, "Do you remember why today, of all days?"

Harry scratched his neck. "Er, no," he said. "Should I?"

"Today is Pansy’s birthday."

"What?!” Harry said. “You didn’t tell me? Here I’ve been making humbug-"

Draco shook his head. "I told you last week, but you’ve been so busy with school."

Harry deflated. “Oh, well… won’t she be mad?"

"Pansy? Mad at you?” Draco scoffed. “I doubt it. She’ll understand."

"I still feel terrible. I should start on the duck, shouldn’t I?"

"I like my living arrangements the way they are, thank you,” Draco said, his smile broadening, “I’d hate to see you exiled for something so trivial. Let’s sit down, drink some water, and wait. Shall we?"

“Alright,” Harry said. 

The two of them chose their favourite spot in the entire house, the couch that Hermione had charmed to fit the number of occupants snugly, but comfortably. It had been one of Harry’s birthday presents some years ago and had seen frequent use. Perhaps some use that the creator hadn’t had in mind. They snuggled, their water glasses near forgotten as they just existed, breathed the same air, and held each other close. Draco knew that eight years ago he would have never expected to be this close both emotionally or physically to anyone, much less Harry _fucking_ Potter. Then again, he didn’t know if he would live or die day to day, but that was much besides the point. 

Harry looked up, snuggled as he was, into Draco’s eyes.

Draco also knew none of them had smiled as much these past few months as they had their entire lives. It would have nauseated their guardians, but sticking it to Vernon, Lucius, and Lisianthus was always something to be thankful for.

Draco smiled, and Harry reciprocated. Draco leaned down-

The door to the upstairs opened, and Pansy bounded down the stairs while shaking out her hair. “Draco, dear, I hate to break a tender moment-”

Draco sighed mournfully. “But you are, ever the heartbreaker-” started Draco.

“-can’t you see I’m having a moment with Draco?-” said Harry, joining in.

“Alright, alright!” she said, holding up her hand. “You two are incorrigible.”

“Careful, I don’t think Harry knows what that means.”

“Hey!” Harry said. “I do too know.”

“Really? What?”

“You look it up in the dictionary,” Harry said, gesturing to the dictionary they had on a shelf “Right next to it, there should be a picture of you.”

“Oh you romantic,” Draco drawled. 

“Right,” Pansy said with a sniff. “Time for duck-making.”

“No no, c’mere,” said Draco. “I haven’t seen you all day.” He made little grabby hand motions. Pansy rolled her eyes. Harry looked around, his eyes widening.

“I need to go,” he said, shooting up.

“What? Why?”

“Oh, er. Floo powder,” he said. He went over to their tin and jiggled it; there was only a little bit inside. 

“But it’s Sunday, Harry.” Pansy pointed it out. “Surely it can wait?”

“Oh, no I’ll be right back,” Harry said with a confident smile. He kissed Draco, who smiled knowingly. Pansy leaned in for a kiss, and Harry gave her one before slipping out the door, coat in hand, and Apparating away to Merlin-knows-where before his foot hit the first step.


	3. Old Lovers

Pansy flicked her wand with a sigh, closing the door. “He always does that.”

“He does it to keep us on our toes, us wily Slytherins.”

Pansy chuckled and shook her head. “I guess so.” She picked up her boots, wrinkling her cute little nose at the rank smell of them. “How odd for him to leave, don’t you think?”

“Oh, I suppose,” Draco answered with a sniff. “You don’t need help, do you?”

Pansy put on her apron, tying it effortlessly behind her, “Yes, actually, read those Witch Weeklies for me and stay out of my kitchen for a bit.”

“Yes, ma’am,” said Draco. He stretched out his limbs on their couch and picked up one of Pansy’s magazines. Apparently Viktor Krum’s new wife was actually a Muggle Serbian spy. Who would have believed it?

The boots thunked in the mudroom, startling Draco. “Did you and Harry have a nice day?” asked Pansy. 

“Oh yes,” Draco said, flipping through the magazine. “He took us to the Adirondacks for firewood.”

“What?” Pansy scoffed, drying off her hands. “But that’s ridiculous.”

“ _Potter_ did something dramatic just because he could, colour me surprised,” said Draco dryly.

“It’s why we were meant to be,” Pansy said. “Three drama queens all under the same roof. It’s always a riot.”

Draco chuckled at that.

There was a comfortable pause as Pansy prepared and placed the duck into the oven. She closed the door with a little clang and tapped the top with her wand, sealing the door into the rest of the appliance. She padded over to the couch as Draco put more logs onto the fire. 

“I knew there was a reason I prepped the veg before I left,” Pansy said with another sigh, sitting next to him. “The damn thing takes near ages.”

“Less time now that you have that oven, I’m sure.”

Pansy kissed his neck. “As I said before, it’s an investment. Plus, it’s Harry’s oven.”

Draco nodded. “Right, one he bought because _you_ suggested it.”

Pansy stuck out her tongue and sagged into the seat. “Semantics.”

“Foot massage?” offered Draco.

“God, please,” Pansy said, wiggling her toes for emphasis. Draco obliged, taking a bottle of unscented lotion from the end table. “Tell me about your trip to the Adirondacks.”

“It was-” Pansy’s ankle made a loud popping noise as Draco turned it. “Good god.”

“ _Yeah_. Get to it, Malfoy.”

“Right,” Draco said, taking his time with the job before him. “The trip was nice, apart for the near-hour we spent in the apparitional tube, there and back.”

“Hmm,” Pansy said, slinking down further as Draco continued. “I didn’t think he could Apparate that far.”

Draco smirked. “Neither did he, but Good Saint Potter does as he pleases.”

Pansy nestled back into her pillows. “Whom he pleases as well.”

“You’re corrupting his pure spirit with your harlequin ways. Do you remember what he said to me at our date?”

Pansy rolled her eyes. “You love it and say the same shit just as much as I do.”

“I do,” Draco said, his smirk faltering. He swallowed a lump. “Does he fancy anyone else? Has he shagged anyone else?”

Pansy glanced down at him. “You know he wouldn’t think of it without asking both of us,” she said. “Stop worrying.”

“I’ve always worried about Potter,” Draco said, cracking Pansy’s toes. “It's like a reflex at this point.”

“D’you trust him?” she asked. 

“Beyond anything,” Draco said without skipping a beat.

Pansy smiled and ruffled Draco’s hair absentmindedly. “You two are fine. We’re fine. He has never asked and I don’t think he ever will ask us to be with anyone else.”

Draco focused in. She did have nice feet he supposed, as far as they went, but were near impossible to relax completely. He did it for the cute little cooing noises she always sounded off with. He definitely would have teased her more about it in their Hogwarts years, had he deigned to perform such a menial task. 

“You know, he said something earlier about adjusting to being in a relationship like ours.”

“A triad?” Pansy twirled her fingers, “Go on.”

“He was talking about, well, the oven,” he continued.

“The famous oven,” Pansy said. “What happened?”

Draco reapplied lotion. “I said that it’s all about compromise, adjustment.”

“The oven?”

Draco rolled his eyes. “Naturally.”

“Don’t tease me,” Pansy said. “When will you start taking your own advice about relationships?”

Draco raised both eyebrows. “That’s what I have you around for, my dear.”

Pansy sighed. “I guess. And I keep you around for your god-damn-fucking-awesome foot rubs.”

“Such language,” gasped Draco. He tapped her ankle and she opened her eyes a fraction, waving her wand to vanish the excess lotion off his hands. 

Draco sprang to his feet and sat next to Pansy, who was at this point resembling a puddle of goop spread over the couch rather than a person sitting on it. She adjusted, putting his head in her lap. 

Just like old times and yet far, far different. 

“Happy birthday, darling,” Draco said. Pansy hummed contentedly, and wiggled her loosened feet. “So, what did you get me this year? Another appliance?”

“Not this time,” Pansy said with a shake of her head. “It’s… better than that.”

“And you’re not telling me because…?”

“Harry’s not here.”

Draco pinched the bridge of his nose. “Fair enough.”

“I know,” Pansy sighed. “I shouldn’t have mentioned it.”

“The suspense _will_ kill me.”

Pansy chuckled, her voice sending pleasant vibrations through Draco’s temple. “Can’t tell you until Harry gets here.”

“Hmph,” Draco said, turning his head to block out the light. 

Pansy carded her fingers through Draco’s hair like one might do with a prised cat, the soft purr and crackle of the cured logs and the methodical tick of the carriage clock on the mantelpiece made up for what absence of noise there was. For now, it was just them, their house, the promise of whatever Pansy had in store for him and what lay behind the far door to the right.


	4. A Desperate Search

Harry, however, had less of a contented symphony and more a rising sense of dread and panic. Not only had he fucked up horribly in forgetting his girlfriend’s birthday, but he also managed to forget to grab his wallet before he apparated out of the house. He couldn’t just go back and get it, because then Pansy would know he’d lied about the powder so he could find her something.

“Calm down, Harry. I’m sure it’s not that bad,” Hermione said. She was the first one he called. Hermione always knew what to do, but she was on her way with Ron to a double-date with the Longbottoms. 

“Isn’t it?” Harry said, his hand braced against the doorway of the Leaky Cauldron’s coat room.

“Nah, sounds pretty bad to me,” Ron said. He was waiting with his and Hermione’s coats. 

“Hush, Ron,” Hermione said. She turned back to Harry. “Come on, Hannah and Neville are waiting.”

“I can’t,” Harry said. “Today’s Sunday. I just-”

“So?” asked Ron, throwing the coats onto a rack. 

“So,” Hermione said. “Today’s the day he has dinner with both his partners. Of course he can’t join us. I forgot.”

“Oh, so it is,” Ron said with a sniff. He held the door open for them. “Y’know, I still think it’s mad you’re dating both of them.”

“Ron!” Hermione said, nearly backing into another patron. She apologised profusely and returned to glaring at Ron. 

“No, it’s fine,” Harry said, shaking his head. “It is mad, you’re right.”

Harry waved at Neville and Hannah, who stood up and began to walk over. 

Ron licked his lips and ducked his head to hide his blush. “I mean, how does it work?”

“Ron, you don’t just ask that!” Hermione exclaimed. She whipped around to Harry. “Harry, don’t encourage him.” 

“Hermione, it’s fine,” Harry said, shifting his weight to the other foot. “We have a bed, and a spare one too if someone wants to sleep alone. We each take turns-”

“Alright, Harry?” Neville asked, approaching with his arm around his wife’s aproned waist. He looked good. Harry hadn’t seen him in a while, not since last term. Hannah’s baby bump more closely resembled a boulder than the slight pudge Harry had seen before, and Neville’s tan had lightened.

“Yeah, he’s alright,” Ron said immediately. “Not on our date with us; he’s already taken.”

Harry’s eyes bulged, but either Neville was still processing or didn’t notice. Hannah raised an eyebrow. “Oh, I didn’t know you three were dating,” said Neville slowly. Politely.

“We’re not,” the three of them said at the same time. Harry scuffed his shoes, choosing not to look at any of them and focusing on the new light fixtures. 

“Yep, just Ron and I,” Hermione said, pulling the taller man towards her by his ear. 

“Right, this is a bad time, Hermione,” Harry said. “I’ll just go.”

Hannah clicked her tongue. “Oh, Harry, please-”

“I’m sorry Harry,” Hermione said. “Any other night and I would’ve-”

“Forget it,” Harry said, smiling placidly. “I’ll find something. Er, anyone have some spare galleons?”

“Did you forget your wallet again?” Hermione chided. Harry shrugged and she shook her head. 

“Oh come off it, Harry,” Ron chuckled. “You could rob a place and people’d be thanking you for it.”

“That was one time,” Harry said. Hermione smiled and handed Harry some change, as did Neville.

“I’ll be sure to pay you both back soon,” Harry promised. The two of them began to protest.

“Right, have a good night, you four.”

Ron smiled and patted Harry’s shoulder, and Neville gave him a side hug. “Don’t be a stranger,” Neville said, “We’ve always got a spare room for you.”

He got two cheek kisses from Hermione and Hannah each and was sent on his way, their gaze following him to the back door that he entered with Hagrid all those years ago. 

How had it moved by so quickly? As he moved through the mostly-empty bar, his friends’ murmured conversations fading into the clinks of cups and the uproarious laughter at another table, it felt like a procession, a shift into a new chapter. A decade ago he was worrying about Cho Chang being peeved off about their date at wherever it was, and whether Draco was going to report him to Umbridge that day or not. 

Now Cho was expecting her second child with some bloke from Evesham and Harry was dating both Draco and Pansy Parkinson,  _ and  _ bloody lived together with both of them. 

Ron was right, it was mad. With a smile, Harry admitted to himself that it was the best sort of mad. 

The door closed behind Harry. He stood before the charred, cracked brick wall. The soot made the proper bricks to poke stand out as clear as day. Hannah had tried to convince the Ministry to allow her to replace the bricks, but they refused her. It was a memorial, they had said, to the first attacks on the British public by Voldemort’s regime in the second war. Harry tapped the bricks, and entered the draughty alley through the unfurling gateway. Like the Cauldron, there were few people out and about. 

Harry paused in front of Ollivander’s. The peeling black storefront was given an electric blue paint job by their new owners, Mr Ollivander’s nephew and wife, whose daughter was in Third Year. He tried to look in, but the curtains had been drawn. Harry looked at his watch. It was already five thirty; a bad time to go gift shopping. He could try apparating to New York again, but he definitely wouldn’t have either the charity or even the right currency to buy anything halfway decent. 

He sighed and continued down the row. Fortescue’s Ice Cream was now a small goblin-owned jewelry store that Harry hadn’t been in yet. He stopped at Madam Malkins and could’ve sworn he saw a little blond boy hopping off the bench in the back. 

“Feeling sentimental?” Harry heard Snape’s voice call to him.

“Yeah, s’pose I am,” Harry said to no one in particular. He saw movement inside and knocked on the door. A kindly woman with a mauve apron came over after his second knock and opened the door.

“Mr Potter!” she exclaimed. “How lovely to see you.”

Harry squinted. “Madam Malkin?”

“Oh no, that was my great aunt,” the woman chuckled. “She’s in Belgium now. I’m Eustasia Wengraf. I was a few years ahead of you, Hufflepuff.”

“Nice to meet you,” Harry said, shaking her hand. “I’m sorry to bother you after closing, but could I buy a bag?”

“It’s no… sorry? A bag?” she repeated. Harry nodded. “I’m afraid we don’t carry bags here.”

“Er, a storage bag I mean. What you use to package a uniform.”

“Oh!” Ms Wengraf exclaimed. “Uh, sure. I can get you one. Wait here.” She smiled and ducked back into the shop. She came out with one in green with silver scissors. “I’m sorry, we only had the Slytherin one in stock.”

“It’s perfect,” Harry said.

He began to fish in his pocket for the change, but Ms Wengraf held the bag out to him. “Free of charge,” she said.

“Oh, er, thank you,” Harry said, dumping the change into his pocket and taking the cloak bag. She smiled and winked at him. “Have a good evening.”

“You too, Mr Potter! And thank you!” she said. She closed the door as Harry turned away. 

‘Great,’ Harry thought. ‘I can give her a Malkin bag. She’ll love it.’

He nearly laughed. He looked around the Alley, at all the darkened storefronts.

“Oh Merlin,” he said. “There really isn’t anything open.”

He looked down at the bag and sighed. Harry could just hear Draco screaming at him through the tunnel about how stupid he was trying to apparate across oceans just for firewood, and now for a birthday present. What other choice did he have? He couldn’t just barge into the Ministry and request a Time Turner, they’d put him away.

He’d really need more money than a handful of change. Time for a quick trip home. He closed his eyes to focus on his destination, his bedroom. If he was quick about it, he could get his wallet without the other two noticing. He pictured the large bed, the green sheets…

_ Crack! _

Harry stumbled, his hands braced to catch himself on one of the nightstand. Pansy had lit incense in the room, and it was quite lovely. Light, careful footsteps were coming up the landing. His heart was pounding as he rifled through the bedstand- 

He closed his eyes and pictured his next destination. A vaulted glass roof, the grimy platforms… 

He turned on his heel as the door opened.

Harry squeezed through an apparitional tube he had no business being in for that long of travel. 

Hours and hours seemed to go by. 

If he forced open his eyes, he could see the steel blue of the Atlantic stretching out before him. Afraid he’d vomit, he shut his eyes against the whirl of landscape and rush of sound. 

_ Crack! _

He slammed into an overfilled trash can and knocking it over. The blood rushed back to his head, and he could smell an acrid stench of smoke, hear the intercom announcing in a tinny voice that the next train to Toronto was leaving. His vision cleared. He patted away a small fire on his shoulder as he stood to walk out of the thin haze he left behind. 

He was on a mission.

Harry heaved a sigh of relief, looking at the miraculously unscorched uniform bag now full of presents for both Draco and Pansy. Sure, Christmas had been a few weeks ago, but…

He grinned wildly. 

It was just too good to pass up. 

He ducked into an alley after making sure it was empty, held the bag across his chest, and twisted on his heel. A whirling flash of colour, an alley giving way to gravel beaches to stormy seas to cliffs-

Harry caught himself before he tumbled into his own postbox. The smell of piss and car exhaust gave way to the dampness of wet leaves underneath the snow of the drive and the fragrancy of cedar smoke that billowed out of the elegant chimney stack.

Harry’s smile softened. He was home. 

He walked methodically up the cobblestone path, careful not to slip or drop the now very heavy bag he was lugging around. It would be just his luck to slip and break a hip after apparating across oceans four times in a day. Come to think of it, he was rather woozy, like when he was at Ron’s stag party and drank too much Firewhisky. He giggled to himself. Probably not one of his best ideas.

Then again, as he looked at the bag, he thought about the look on his partners’ faces when he came in, seemingly as drunk as a sailor, and holding a smoking Malkin’s bag. 

He caught himself on the brick post, collapsing in exhaustion and fits of laughter. The door opened, and he could distantly hear Draco screeching at him, Pansy trying to pick him up. 

Harry stopped laughing. 


	5. Recovery

Pansy tightly clutched the handkerchief Hermione had given her. Her knuckles were white against her pale skin and the bundled cream folds of the fabric square. She, along with a haggard-looking Draco and a stoic Neville Longbottom, were waiting outside a glass panelled ward in St Mungo’s titled  _ Extreme Magical Distress Ward _ , backs sore and rigid from the god-forsaken chairs the hospital had chosen to buy. 

The Chosen One he may be, but Harry wasn’t allowed non-family visitors. Not even her. Not even Draco, and  _ especially  _ not Draco. 

They had been here for hours, waiting for word about what had happened. It had been days since the incident, and they’d been turned away. 

It was… rather frightening. 

The first they heard was him apparating into their bedroom. Pansy knew that Harry had gone to Diagon Alley to look for a birthday present for her under the guise of purchasing floo powder. According to Draco, he had told Harry today was her birthday weeks ago, but Harry had forgotten.

She hadn’t looked into the bag to see where Harry had gone to after that. 

When he did come back, he wasn’t completely there. He was staggering through the snow half-blind, rivulets of blood coming out of his ears, nose, eyes. Pansy hadn’t seen something like that since the war. Hadn’t felt something like this horrible, gnawing deep pit of dread since the war. 

Draco knelt before her, taking her fists into his hand, tipping her chin to look at him. She offered no resistance. She hoped he could see just how cold she felt. 

“Hermione’s gone for a Mediwitch to see about her and Ron visiting Harry,” he murmured to her, her barely able to catch it.

She stared at his neck, his words registering but not quite sounding right. No one should be visiting Harry. Harry shouldn’t be in there. He shouldn’t have been to the Adirondacks in the first place, much less do whatever he had done.

Of course, she had already said all of that, already screamed herself raw at Draco for it. 

And it didn’t make it feel any better. 

Her boyfriend frowned and patted her knee, moving to leave.

“I’m sorry,” Pansy croaked. He stilled. “I should’ve said something. I should have told him it was fine, that I didn’t- I should’ve-”

Draco caught her, guiding her back into her chair and rubbing comforting circles on her back. She couldn’t see, she was crying again. She hated herself for crying. This was horrible, worse than anything. 

“What if he never comes out? What then?”

“Don’t say that.”

“Draco, it’s our fault he’s in there. We should have told him not to go, because he always-”

“Pansy? Pansy. Look at me. If-” Draco swallowed and took a deep breath. “When Harry gets out, we can talk more about this, alright?”

Pansy took several gulping breaths. She could see Neville in the corner of her eye. Draco offered her a large cup with a bendy straw and she began to drink, her nerves calming as she forced herself to sip the cold water. Draco placed the drink on the ground and cupped Pansy’s face.

“Look at me, Pansy,” he said.

And she did. He had light rings underneath his eyes, a wild mat to his normally pristine hair, his chapped lips. He was as worried as she was about Harry, as worried as Harry would be about either of them. It was at that moment Pansy truly knew Draco had changed, that Draco was deeply committed to making this relationship work through thick and thin, to keep her together, as she would in his place, in Harry’s place: through sickness, health, life, and perhaps even death. Draco loved her and Harry both. 

Pansy knew loved Harry; the twisting gnawing monster crawling through her was proof enough. 

Pansy focused on Draco’s silvery eyes. Flecked as they were with shades of mutton jade green, she couldn’t help but to think of Harry behind the impassable glass wall and prayed to whatever higher power there was that he would pull through so she could give him a piece of her mind. 

She held out her arms, and Draco took her in to his embrace and guided her to the chairs, which morphed into a sort of daybed complete with a conjured yellow pillow. She blinked and sniffed, staring as she was into her boyfriend’s face. Draco gave her a tentative, reassuring smile, and she reciprocated. It was the same smile they’d shared all throughout childhood, throughout Hogwarts, the war, even now. There was never a price she’d accept to part from the contentment of that little rosy smirk.

What she had felt then was child’s play, a prelude.

“I love you,” Pansy said, her lips moving faster than her brain. She nestled in closer to Draco, burying her head beneath his, curling herself into his arms.

She couldn’t hear Draco’s response, drifting off as she was into unconsciousness, but knew in the thrum of his chest, the steadiness of his breath, that he loved her too. 

That was enough for her. 

Harry’s neck was supremely stiff. Fact was, his entire body felt pressed and rolled out like some sort of demented Harry biscuit. He wiped away the crust in his eyes and sat up. He wasn’t at home on his favourite couch. He put his head back. There was a blinking lamp above his head. He shut his eyes so he didn’t have to look at it for very long. 

“How do you feel, Mr Potter?” a voice called to him.

Harry winced at the noise. “Dreadful.”

The masculine voice chuckled. “I should think so,” they said, “You gave us quite the scare there.”

“I’m in hospital,” Harry declared. It had to be: white decoration, crunchy sheets. He’d spent enough time in both St Mungos and the Hogwarts Hospital Wing to recognise a hospital by smell, of cleaning solution and baby powder. 

The voice hummed in agreement. 

Harry tsked. “Merlin,” he said, “They ought to name a ward after me. Harry Potter Ward of Cock-ups.”

The doctor smiled through his beard. “There is one already named after you, Mr Potter. And, if I may say, you are in the ward of ‘cock-ups’.”

“Can I have some water?” Harry rasped. The doctor handed him a cup with a bendy straw. Harry drank and pushed the cup away with his tongue, his arms too heavy to move. “Thank you.” 

The doctor, who had very hairy wrists poking from underneath his leather gloves, lifted his neck and felt his lymph nodes. “No pain?”

Harry shook his head and was let go. “What happened, Doctor...?”

“Butterbee, Mr Potter,” he said. He put on his glasses and flipped through Harry’s chart. “Apparently, you did the impossible. Well, near-impossible. We’ve never seen anything like it.” 

Harry very nearly rolled his eyes at that.

The doctor cleared his throat. “We had to open up the archive and contact the Department of Mysteries and the Department of Magical Transportation. You apparated a little over thirteen thousand kilometres in a single day, twice with a single passenger.”

Harry hummed and smoothed out his sheets. “Rather a lot really. I guess Dumbledore was the last to do it.”

Dr Butterbee looked at him over his glasses. Dumbledore was far better at it, though there was no way Butterbee knew that. “As a matter of fact, you are the first to accomplish such a feat. Mr Dumbledore only attempted two runs of six thousand kilometres each according to our records, with no passengers.”

Harry sighed and tried to lift his arms. “I feel like a lorry ran over me,” he said, laying himself gingerly back down. A beat later, he said: “An elephant, Doctor.”

“Ah. Well, you had complex ruptures of most of your major organs.” Harry blinked. “I’ll explain it like this: a trip with apparition is like scrambling an egg, except when you finish the trip the egg, or you, unscrambles itself, makes itself as it was before the trip. 

“The more frequent and longer the distance you travel, the less the egg, or you, can unscramble itself or yourself. Basically, consider yourself lucky that you aren’t sludge.”

Harry gulped, his throat already dry again. “So I cocked it up big time.” Dr Butterbee nodded solemly. Harry closed his eyes. “Will I… am I-”

“No,” he said. “Your organs have repaired themselves nicely. I would urge you to take it easy. No recombinant magical transport of any kind until I say so. So no Floo, no Apparition, no smoke travel-”

“My partners are going to have my head,” Harry murmured.

Doctor Butterbee sighed, and he took out his wand. “We did a routine scan for curses. There must be-”

Harry backed up, his head against the wall, his hand reaching for where his wand would be on his night table. “No. There isn’t. I’m not bewitched,” he said. “Trust me, I would know.”

Dr Butterbee sighed. “The fact remains that Draco Malfoy-”

“-Is as much a Death Eater as I am,” Harry said, staring the doctor down intently. The doctor began to speak, but thought better of it. “Has he been here?”

Butterbee went to the log by the door. “A great many people have come to see you, Mr Potter,” he said. He began to read from the list: “Mr and Mrs Neville and Hannah Longbottom, Ronald, George,  _ et alia _ Weasley, Mrs Hermione Granger, Ms Pansy Parkinson, and yes, Mr Draco Malfoy.”

Harry frowned. “Why aren’t they here? I thought-”

“It’s hospital policy,” Butterbee said. “Only close relatives are allowed to see patients on this ward, particularly after intense treatments. As none were noted on your chart, and Mr Malfoy’s reputation being what it is-”

Harry sat himself up. “Sir, with respect, I am perhaps the most famous orphan in Britain. I have  _ no  _ close family members left.”

Well, there were still the Dursleys, but he wasn’t sure if he’d want either his aunt or uncle to see him, or if they’d even come. Butterbee didn’t need to know that though.

“Er, right,” he said. He stood straighter. “I’ll have a nurse show them in.”

“See to it that you do,” Harry said. The doctor left his room for the nurse’s station. Where had that phrasing come from?

Probably McGonagall. 

A little while later, Harry heard a knock on his door. He sat himself up, fully expecting a wave of Weasleys to flood the small room he was in. Instead, Pansy and Draco came in carefully as if they were expecting Harry to explode, with Ron waiting in sight. Pansy closed the door with a bit more force than was strictly necessary. 

“Pansy, Draco,” he said, slightly higher than a rasp. He gripped the sheets around him, bracing himself for chastisement, scolding, whatever was going to come. 

They both looked how he felt. Draco, with eyes as sunken in as they had been back in sixth year, stared at him. Pansy clutched his arm like she had after Buckbeak’s attack but refused to meet Harry’s eyes. 

“Are you mad at me?”

A pause.

“Mad?” Pansy said. Her lip quivered. “I am so, so pissed, you would not believe.”

“Yeah, I would,” Harry murmured.

Pansy released Draco and walked towards Harry. She paused by his side, curling and uncurling her fists and studying him. Tentatively, he reached out. After a beat, she took it. 

“We need to talk,” she said. “All of us.”

Harry licked his lips. “Yeah, alright. Er, I suppose you should go first. It would be better that way.”

“Harry, you need to stop being so damn reckless, Please,” Pansy said. “It might have been different, back in school. It  _ was  _ different. 

She paused to kiss his knuckles fervently. “Out there in a waiting room for days on end, not knowing what happened to you, I felt like I had lost you and that I would never get you back. It broke me.

She looked down again, almost in tears. “I don’t ever want to go through that again.  _ Do you hear me? _ No more surprises like this for something so stupid as a birthday gift.”

After a moment, Harry reached out and kissed Pansy, who flung her arms around him before relaxing, remembering that Harry was still in hospital. Pansy looked to Draco, who shook his head. She turned back to Harry and smiled, tearing up as she stroked his cheek. 

“I love you,” she said. “I hope you know that.”

“I do,” Harry said with a smile. “I’m sorry for ruining your birthday.”

She shook her head. “I’m glad that you’re here, Harry. That’s all that matters to me right now.” They kissed again, and Harry sidled over for her to join him, which she did. He looked over to Draco, who shook his head again. 

“How did the ice cream turn out?” Harry asked.

“We don’t know,” Draco replied with a shrug. “We saved it until you were well enough to leave.”

Harry looked around. “Well, no time like the present.”

“You will not,” Pansy said into Harry’s ear in a sort of stage-whisper. 

Draco raised his eyebrow. “Doctor Butterbee said he was free to go-”

“I’m not done with him yet, Draco,” Pansy said lightly. “Give us the room.”

“Ah, yes ma’am,” he replied. He turned towards the door and gave it a knock. “Weasley, I’m coming through.”

“See you soon, Draco,” Harry said with a jaunty little wave. 

“Who knows?” he asked rhetorically. He smirked, perhaps for the first time in days. The door closed behind him, and Pansy all but pounced onto Harry. 


	6. The Grand Finale

Harry was released a few hours later. The three of them rode in Ron’s van all the way to Gloucester. Ron was delighting them with how he managed to get his driving license, before Hermione told them all she made him go back and get it legitimately. They were all smiles, but by the second hour were quite tired of being in a card, especially Draco. He hadn’t let go of the safety rail above the door since they got on. 

Finally Ron pulled in to the stone lot in front of Draco, Pansy, and Harry’s cottage. Draco piled out almost immediately, mumbling curses about  _ elekity _ and motorcars all the way to the door. Pansy exited gracefully and put on her hood. She apologised for Draco, said goodbye to Ron and Hermione, and helped Harry out of the van. 

“Sure you’ll be alright, mate?”

“Yeah I’m fine. These two won’t let me out of their sight.”

“I’d a feeling you’d say something like that,” Ron replied with a chuckle. “Right then. Got to dash. Mum’s expecting a full report. Wait ‘till Dad sees what I’m driving now.”

Harry looked at the beat up old bakery van and didn’t have the heart to tell Ron, so he just smiled and gave him and Hermione both light hugs. 

“We’ll be in on Sunday, alright?” said Hermione. 

“Yeah, fine,” Harry said with a nod. “See you.”

Ron and Hermione waved to them as the van barrelled down the path back to the main road, disappearing from clear view after passing through their protective enchantments. Harry and Pansy turned back towards the house arm in arm. Draco came back to help Harry up the stairs. 

“Look, I’m not an invalid,” said Harry with a hint of frustration. 

“That’s not what I heard,” Pansy said. “I heard you had multiple organ ruptures, lesions in your tendons-”

“-Miracles of modern magic,” Harry declared. “I am as fit as… well, as fit as Draco over there.”

“Oh hush, you’ll make me faint,” Draco drawled. He opened the door for Harry, who shucked off his coat, placed it on the rack, and had a sudden need to sit down on his couch. Draco closed the door. 

“D’you mind if we do gifts now?” Harry said. He cast a shoe-swap charm with his slippers (which he never, ever wore before) and padded over to his spot at the centre of the well-worn couch. 

“Sure,” Draco said, taking off his coat. “ ansy?”

“Might do yours, first,” she replied. “If you’re up for it?”

“Oh yeah,” Harry said. “I’ve wanted to go into that room for ages now. Driving me up the wall, that little secret.”

“Hopefully it’s worth it,” Draco murmured.

The two of them frog-stepped Harry towards the far room, the grey foreboding door looming large. Draco turned the knocker and the two of them were blown away as it swung unhindered.

Draco had painted a masterpiece.

The room was roughly a square. On each wall, there was a different mural that blended its edges into the one next to it. 

To the left, Pansy was depicted in a midnight blue dress and hood, her gaze skywards towards a full moon as she picked a glowing red flower in a field full of them. She smiled at the flower, looked in front of her, and then longingly above her. 

A swirl of leaves led into the next mural, this time of Draco walking down an autumn lane with the two of them arm-in arm with him, laughing at something they saw above their heads. Harry knew this image. It had been missing from their fireplace for the last few months. 

The clouds of this mural moved into the one on the right wall. Harry, in black and green robes, held a broomstick tightly with both hands as he soared higher and higher from a green pasture. As he grew closer in the foreground, clouds appearing around him, he changed direction and flew across the plain back wall to Pansy’s painting, where Draco pointed him out, flying in the nighttime sky. 

The two of them looked to Draco, who was smiling softly at the central painting. “Happy birthday, Pansy.”

“Oh, Draco,” she said, launching herself at him. Harry stepped back and laughed, loving the painting to bits. When Pansy finally released Draco, he swooped in as well. 

“It’s brilliant,” Harry said. “Thank you.”

Draco smiled. “And, in case it wasn’t clear, I just wanted to say to the both of you perhaps the most obvious thing, given the circumstances. I love you.”

Pansy and Harry smiled. “We love you too, Draco.”

The three of them watched the painting for a little while longer before going back to the couch. 

“Da Vinci, babe,” Harry said, “Do you mind fetching the bag?”

“Of course, darling,” he said. “Oh, was the colour intentional?”

Harry laughed. “Absolutely not.” Draco went up the stairs and came back levitating the burnt bag. 

“What do you have in there? Before Draco remembered he was a wizard he could barely lift the thing.”

“Oh, some things,” Harry said airily. “Go ahead and open it.”

Draco did so, and looked inside. “Bricks.”

“What?!” Pansy said, launching off the couch. “You got-”

Harry burst into laughter. “I’m sorry. Tap one of them.”

Draco tapped one of the bricks and they folded and compressed into three small boxes, each with a different coloured ribbon. Harry sat stock still as Draco took all three of them.

“What’s this?” he asked.

“Er, one for both of you,” Harry said. “I think red stripe’s for Pansy, blue for Draco.”

“There’s three here,” Pansy said.

“Oh yeah. Yellow for me.”

Pansy handed him the yellow-ribbon box. With a deep breath, he said, “Open them.”

They each opened their boxes, pulling out a rose gold ring with their three names inscribed on the inside of the band. 

“Well, this is… thank you,” Draco said. He slipped his on and kissed Harry’s cheek, who smiled.

“Worth the trip?” he asked Pansy. She gave him a death glare worthy of Hermione and slipped on her ring, her expression morphing into gratitude. 

“I hope you liked your gifts,” Draco said.

“I loved them,” Pansy said, letting her hand drop to her side. “Every last  _ cheesy  _ bit of them. But you know it’s a tradition of mine to give gifts.” She gave him a kiss and bounded up the stairs, coming back down with a book that neither of them had seen before.

“Boys, I know when we first started out, there was a question about family,” she said. “I didn’t exactly want to go painting a room quite yet, but I figured what the hell. I knew they were up to some shite in magical medicine these days, but then-”

She took the leather-bound book from behind her back like it was a prized relic.

“Courtesy of Daphne,” she said as way of explanation. “Well, you didn’t hear that from me. They’re spells, rigorously tested already in America but not  _ quite  _ legal yet here.”

“What do they do?” asked Draco, his inner scholar piqued. 

“What don’t they do?” she asked rhetorically. “There’s one here that’s… a lot. But basically it ensures that any baby born will have the DNA of  _ three  _ parents, not just two, without any unfortunate side effects.”

“That’s incredible,” Harry said.

“It is. We’ll have it here, and once we’re ready, well…” she trailed off, smiling hesitantly. “We can give it a try?”

Draco kissed her soundly. “Thank you, Pansy,” he said. He looked at the book with intrigue.

“Thank you,” Harry said. “Speaking of  _ cheese _ , do we have any food?”

“Funny you should ask that,” Draco drawled. “We have an entire feast prepared.”

“Oh, how fun. Get me to the feast, babe.”

“Of course, darling.”

Draco fireman-carried Harry to the dining room. Minutes later, their tripartite feast lay before them. They spent their Thursday dinner together, laughing and gushing about their gifts. 

It was perhaps better than any Sunday dinner, any date, that they had ever had.


End file.
